


i would kill to be your clothes

by buries



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 16:14:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7581133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buries/pseuds/buries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>raven knows, out of everything bellamy gives to everyone in the camp, this is</i> hers. or the one where raven and bellamy face their true north.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i would kill to be your clothes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geckoholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/gifts).



> for my loser friend. ♥ whenever i get to write for you, it is like i get the opportunity to pull the stars from the sky and toss them at you. 
> 
> consider this a future fic that will never happen because the universe of this show isn't kind. it's an established relationship that hopefully satisfies a lizard like yourself. there are some very vague references to wick/raven, but it can be read as either platonic or previously romantic. it's up to you.
> 
> all mistakes are mine. title is from _now, now_ by wolf. thanks for reading; i hope you enjoy it, gecko. ♥

Raven hits Bellamy on the wrist.

Instead of dropping the little metallic contraption to the earth’s floor, he holds onto it tighter. Or she thinks he does. Why is it every time she tries to rip the little compass from his hands, it never works? 

It’d been easy to make him drop his pen, to place a little slip of torn paper inside his book to mark his page, and have him enrapt with her. She’s found it’s easier to make him fall into her, envelope her with his arms, slide against her with his body, when she throws something at him.

A pen. A book. Herself.

Regardless of what she does, though, the little metal box in his hand never slips from his fingertips.

But she is. She can feel it.

As dramatically as she knows she’s being.

A few hours into his scout, the one he’d invited her to come along without using his words, their partnership infamous within Arkadia, she finds it to be as tense and awkward as the first few had been between them. When their legs had been intertwined and they began by being a thing that had to be _labelled_ — yet they remain _un_ labelled, by the way, as Raven Reyes may label bits and pieces of her creations, but she refuses to place a name on what she is to Bellamy Blake and who he happens to be to her — these moments alone in the woods had been awkward.

Thick with tension, more humid than the sticky air clinging to the trees. It’d settled, eventually, when he’d let what was in his hands drop, and she’d climbed onto his back when they’d ascended a mountain.

Bellamy sighs, and doesn’t lift his eyes from the compass in his hand. It’s a little cute, how he’s hunched over the way he is, so focused on reading that little arrow twitching this way and that, pointing to letters etched by a hand that’d been disintegrated by a bomb. 

Her movements are heavy and loud while his are soft and soundless. Staring at his profile, she eyes his compass and tries to figure out how much strength she needs to smack it out of his hand.

“You seriously need to stop.”

She clears her throat. “Stop what?” Looking straight ahead, she tries to neutralise her expression. From the corner of her eye, she spies him looking at her, and she knows, without a doubt, she’s busted.

The ground is damp and moist, and had been more than difficult to walk along before. It had its dips and ditches, its small but tiresome uphills and its steep staircases, but Bellamy’s carved out a flat path for her to walk along. Their journey’s a little longer than it _should_ be, but Raven’s stopped complaining. It’s more time with him. She’s never heard him pipe up and sigh she’s wasting his days when a good portion of them are split between herself and Octavia. 

The brace wrapped around her leg is sharp and hard, and it weighs down her leg more than she’d like. Made of lighter material, it’s still a ball and chain she drags around. Sometimes she thinks he’s right, telling her it’s all in her head.

He sighs, aggravated. “Stop hitting my hand.”

“It's your wrist.”

“It’s a part of my hand.”

Raven cracks her knuckles. Long fingers reaching into the palm of her hand, she watches how they act as teeth, unable to sink her blunt and lame nails into her lifelines. Flattening her hands against the air as though she’s trapped inside of a box, she wiggles her fingers, and taps her wrist near her pulse point. “It actually attaches your hand to your arm. Didn’t you listen to Clarke’s boring ass lecture on Anatomy 101?”

Bellamy rolls his eyes.

Shoving him, he doesn’t stumble. That’s what she likes about Bellamy. He’s solid. Unmoving. Safe. 

“She used _permanent_ marker. I can’t get that shit off my boards.”

Looking down at the compass, he keeps his eyes on that. Raven would stomp her feet if it wouldn’t throw her off kilter and into him. 

Noting his pace is slow, keeping him beside her, Raven thinks to pick hers up. He’d told her a story about a tortoise and a hare. Racing one another, the hare had been arrogant, believing himself to be the fastest between the two of them. But along the route, he’d grown tired after having overexerted himself in trying to beat the tortoise while celebrating his victory before he’d claimed it. Sleeping underneath a tree, the tortoise had managed to overtake the hare, showcasing how patience and humility made him quicker.

The tortoise won.

Raven wonders if Bellamy’s the tortoise and she’s the hare, even though she knows he’s not even aware they’re racing.

Looking ahead, Raven determinedly remains quiet. Brows furrowing, she picks her leg up, focuses on the weight of her bad one, and then tries to shift her attention to her good one. It flicks back and forth, the weight of her shoes, the way her pants rub against the skin of her bum leg. She can feel it, vaguely, irritating her. She remembers what it’d felt like to have denim against her legs, but she isn’t so sure if it had been this annoying.

She can’t feel it. That’s the irritation, the bug beneath her skin.

“So …” Her voice is unnaturally loud, a boom of thunder crackling in the sky. Bellamy doesn’t lift his head. She tries not to look at him from the corner of her eye. “Are you and Wick _friends_ now?”

“What?” His brow crinkles cutely. He still doesn’t lift that great mop of a head up from focusing on the compass and the earth floor.

Licking her lips, she balls her hands into fists. Glancing toward the compass, she keeps her gaze straight. Purposefully containing her voice, she tries to come off neutral, but her words are sharp, voice too loud, and her feet feel like thunder hitting the atmosphere of the ground. “The compass. Wick’s compass.”

“What about it?”

She sighs. “I made one! _Me_. And you’re not using it.”

Bellamy stops walking. She takes a few steps before she realises he’s no longer beside her, then turns around. Arms folded over her chest, she makes sure to regard him with an arch of her brow. Challenging, petulant, impenetrable. Bellamy looks at her as though he’s annoyed — or amused. There’s a quirk to his lip that makes her want to soften, but she refuses to. Standing taller, she lets her gaze flicker down to his hand, the compass pressed against his thigh.

It takes too long for him to speak with his _mouth_ and that voice box she thinks the sky gods wasted on him. 

“You’re jealous I’m using his compass.” It’s a warm deadpan.

She can hear the amusement in his voice. It makes it warm and deep, a little thick with something she likes the sound of. In this instance, though, she refuses to like it. Makes herself hate it. Latching onto her anger, she spins it, trying to capture it and craft it into a weapon.

Gritting her teeth, she feels her jaw click into place. She refuses to answer.

The curve of his mouth softens and widens. Raven narrows her eyes in anger.

“It’s not funny.”

“No,” he says, warmly. There’s a laugh bubbling inside of his chest. She feels it curl around her like the humidity of the day. Sometimes, it feels delicious. Sometimes, it doesn’t at all. “It’s cute.”

She rolls her eyes.

“You’re pissed at me for using his compass over yours. You know it doesn’t mean anything, right?”

She makes sure her arms are crossed sharply against her chest. Jutting her hip out, she ignores the pain bubbling up her leg. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re really funny when you’re agitated.”

It’s hard to stomp away, but Raven manages to make her strides long and angry. Making sure she’s at least a good step ahead of him, she remains quiet. Sometimes, she thinks there’s a heat prickling at the back of her neck. She wants to believe it’s Bellamy looking at her instead of the stupid compass.

Her leg feels cold. He never watches her leg like she’s incapable of keeping an eye on it herself.

Clearing her throat, Raven makes a show of looking around. Throwing her head back, she eyes the canopy, tries to count the leaves that try to tickle her nose, before she gives up completely.

“Upcoming tree!” She bellows out. It’s dangerous, letting her voice rise so loudly, curling through the leaves, the trees, and shooting into the bright, blue sky. But Raven knows the gun in her pocket and the one slung over his back is protection enough. His hands may be preoccupied, but Bellamy’s fast.

Glancing over her shoulder, she purses her lips, pretending to remain unaffected by how his gaze isn’t on her. “Just in case you can’t _see._ ”

Bellamy ignores her. For as long as they walk, he remains quiet, and she stays ahead of him. Blindly guiding him, she feels her skin prickle beneath the leadership role she’s suddenly stomped her way into.

Either that, or he’s letting her take them in a straight line in the hope she’ll explode.

If he’s choosing to ignore her, she’ll return the favour. Remaining ahead of him, she ensures to keep her gaze straight. Refusing to glance over her shoulder, she tries to focus on the canopy up above, but doesn’t try to count the leaves this time. Thick and safe, cooling them beneath the hot summer sun.

She can hear him behind her, and she hates it.

“Loose stone on the ground.” The echo of her voice is welcoming, and so she thinks to breathe harder, except without overexerting herself or alerting him to how the movement of her leg at a particular angle _hurts_.

When they pass a thick tree, she reaches out to brush her fingers against it. After having caught Bellamy doing so on one of their treks, she’s chosen to copy him. It helps ground him, in a way, even though his answer had been a shrug and a deadpan of “I don’t know, I just feel like swinging off of trees sometimes, Raven.”

Pointing her arm straight, she hopes to clothesline him. He remains behind her, though, and her efforts to earn his attention and to hear his warm, rough voice remain fruitless.

“Boulder up ahead. To your left. Other left.” He chuckles lightly.

For the next thirty minutes, she ensures he knows that nature surrounds them. Purposefully pointing out thin and thick trees, tall and small, weeds and uproots, she talks at him without speaking to him.

It’s aggravating, but kind of fun. She’ll break him soon.

“Another tree.”

“A tree.” When she swings her arm out to point, her finger isn’t leading anyone’s eye to a tree. It’s the space between a cluster of thick trunks.

He sighs. “I see it.”

“A tree.”

Walking underneath a low hanging branch of a thick tree, she knows it’ll brush against the top of his head if he doesn’t duck, and so she thinks to try and help him. She reaches up to wrap her fingers around a thin branch, pulling it down to let it shoot back upward toward its kin.

“A raven.”

She hears the sound of his feet stop. The crunch of the dry leaves and the way the grass blades seem to cushion his dirty boots and press into the ground. She stops, and waits, taking her time to turn around.

Once she does, she notices he’s looking at her. His hands are by his side, and his brow’s slightly arched. “You can stop being jealous, Raven.”

Crossing her arms against her chest, she arches her brow, and feels defensiveness curl inside of her. “I’m not jealous.”

“I’m testing it.”

“What?”

“The compass. I’m testing it.” He inhales deeply, and looks up to the skies, as though he’s wishing for Zeus to help him in this very moment. But doesn’t he know Zeus is a dick? Zeus helps no one. He’s self-absorbed and deeply into self-sabotaging, so much so Raven wonders if it’s a fetish. But doesn’t he know all of this about his friend Zeus? Bellamy’s the one who revealed his deep, dark secret to her, anyway. 

Looking back at her, his expression is one that’s patient. “Wick wanted to see if there were any faults. I was the person going out next. I’m testing it. I didn’t pick him over you, Raven. I know your compass doesn’t have any faults in it, except for being created by a massive ego.”

Raven’s smile is slow-forming. It widens into a great beam when he rolls his eyes and begins to walk away from her, focused on the compass in his hand as it directs him north. She thinks to stand in front of him to show him where his truth north is.

So, she does.

Taking the steps toward him, he stops, pretending like he’s _annoyed_ he has to. She flicks him on the nose. Letting her fingers brush against the freckles along his cheeks, she connects the constellations. And plucks the compass from his hands, sliding it into the back pocket of her jeans instead of tossing it over her shoulder.

His hands fold against her hipbones. She worries, for a moment, he’ll pull it out of her back pocket. But his hands remain where they are, tucking into the crook of her.

Looking down at her, his expression is warm and soft, and Raven knows, out of everything Bellamy gives to everyone in the camp, this is _hers_. This look of affection, the expression on his face that’s revealed after those walls come crashing down. “You’re a dumbass.”

Raven rolls her eyes and shoves him.


End file.
